


Immersion

by TryingToMystrade (TryingToScribble)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry Greg, BAMF Greg, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Greg to the rescue, Hurt Mycroft, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but he's not, greg likes a good swear, he's okay, i don't even know why john is here, sherlock is a bitch, swears, this is paia's fault, we love paia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingToScribble/pseuds/TryingToMystrade
Summary: PROMPT: Sherlock accidentally-on-purpose shoves Mycroft in the Thames when he shows up to one of Greg's crime scenes.Greg sees the whole thing....I went a little dark with it tbhWarnings and ratings may change. Please keep an eye on tags and notes for trigger warnings.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 27
Kudos: 122
Collections: JustMystradeThoughts Plot Bunny Adoptions





	Immersion

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS IN THE WARNINGS  
> \--!!!--
> 
> There's quite a bit of angst here that includes a near death experience involving drowning. The whole experience from falling in to reviving due to CPR is written. Please read responsibly.

A commotion brings Greg out of a serious conversation with one of his sergeants. Everyone across the crime scene is slowly stopping in their investigations to watch the ever annoying detective have a shouting match with his flatmate by the water’s edge. Greg rolls his eyes and turns to see for himself.

Oh. John is certainly shouting at Sherlock but Sherlock is shouting at his seemingly unmoved brother. Greg is far enough away that he can hear the anger but not the precise words. It gets louder as Sherlock growls and steps forward into Mycroft’s space. If Mycroft is concerned or surprised he doesn’t show it but Greg knows enough to understand that this isn’t usual and something is about to go very wrong. John’s very obvious concern and his insistence on bodily holding Sherlock back has Greg immediately on edge.

He makes to walk over to get between the quarreling brothers but before he can take even one step Sherlock shouts “For the last time, no!” and he pushes Mycroft hard in the chest. He certainly seems surprised now. Greg watches in slow motion as Mycroft trips on the low chains surrounding this part of the Thames, loses his balance, and tips backwards over the side.

Greg pales.

There’s a muted splash.

“Shit.” Greg is running now. “Sherlock!” He shouts for help but he’s still playing the petulant child with his arms across his chest. “John!” He shouts for help but he’s just staring daggers at Sherlock. “What are you playing at for fuck’s sake?” He shouts as he reaches them and catches himself before he falls over the chains too. He peers over the side. “He’s not there. I can’t see him!” He is frantic now and it’s clear that the dynamic duo aren’t going to do any saving today.

“He’ll be fine, Greg.” John assures.

Greg fumes. “Fine? It’s the bloody Thames! It’s cold and dirty all year round, not to mention  _ it’s the fucking Thames, John _ .”

“I did check that there was a ladder nearby.” Sherlock says with a shrug and the ‘obviously’ isn’t said but Greg can hear it.

Greg is furious. He glares at Sherlock as he strips his jacket off. It seems Mycroft  _ can _ keep secrets from his little brother. “You’re a fucking idiot, Sherlock Holmes.”

He catches a glimpse of what he hopes are Mycroft’s fingers. He jumps in.

The water is even colder than Greg expects and it drives the air from his lungs in a harsh gasp. It almost hurts. He pushes through the shock and forces his mind back into the search. He knows there is precious little time if any left at all now. His frantic twisting and turning confirms that Mycroft hasn’t been able to tread any water. It’s no wonder since, even though he didn’t notice the wind before, it’s blowing hard enough that it pushes him with every stroke to keep himself afloat. “Mycroft!” He screams above the waves but he already knows the man won’t hear him. Mycroft’s worst fear has suddenly become Greg’s living nightmare.

Greg takes a deep breath before falling beneath the water to take a look. He opens his eyes in the murkiness and has to force his eyes to stay open against the sting. The daylight doesn’t venture far down in the water but for a few rays that sway with the waves and it takes a moment or two before Greg’s stinging eyes catch a glimpse of reflection against something shiny. He’s already moving in that direction before his brain can think of all the things it could be that isn’t what he hopes is Mycroft’s watch or a cufflink.

His own lungs begin to burn with the need to breath but the thought of not knowing how long it’s been since Mycroft couldn’t kick and fight any longer frightens him more. He reaches down, beyond where the light currently reaches, and hopes.

For a brief and terrifying moment Greg thinks he is mistaken. He grasps at nothing. His lungs scream. He’s about ready to actually scream when one last swipe at the water has his fingertips trailing over something that feels like skin. It almost makes him gasp but he blows the last of his air through his nose with determination and tugs hard at what he assumes is Mycroft’s sleeve and kicks with all his might.

He breaks the surface with a silent, desperate plea for air. His momentum brings the other body with him but he scrabbles to lift the man above the waves and hold him high against his chest so swimming backwards keeps Mycroft above the water.

And it is. It is Mycroft. Only, Mycroft’s eyes are closed and he’s unresponsive.

The ladder is very close against the wall as Sherlock had said and Greg manages to haul them both up and over the side. Mycroft falls limp on his front so Greg scrambles to kneel next to him and push him over onto his back. He rubs a hand hard on Mycroft’s chest and reaches to pinch at his cheek and ear. “Come on, Mycroft. Wake up.”

It doesn’t work.

Mycroft’s lips are blue.

Leaning in to listen and watch for signs of breathing, Greg tilts Mycroft’s chin and head backwards. He doesn’t take long because he knows as he has since before he jumped in after him that Mycroft wasn’t breathing. Still, Greg’s medical training is thorough enough to cover this scenario and he follows it to the letter. He pinches Mycroft’s nose and prays to everything he doesn’t quite believe in as he takes a deep breath before sealing his mouth over Mycroft’s and sharing the breath. He takes a deep breath and repeats four times. Once he’s given the fifth breath Greg leans back to check for any sign that Mycroft is breathing. He nearly chokes on a sob when nothing happens.

“Please, Mycroft. Please.” Greg whispers even as he links his fingers together to start CPR.

Once he’s settled on the rhythm after a few chest compressions, Greg realises that no one else has approached him. He looks around for help without stopping and only then notices that they’d actually been pushed further down the river than expected. His crime scene is still in sight as is John leaning carefully over the chains and Sherlock leaning over the body. The other body. The one that is definitely dead because Mycroft isn’t dead. He’s not dying. “Don’t you dare, mister! Not today. Do you hear me?” He speaks roughly to Mycroft and then shouts as loud as he can to get someone’s attention.

That doesn’t work but suddenly Mycroft is convulsing as his body coughs up half of the river Thames and apparently Greg’s shouts of relief are louder because people are running towards them as Greg pulls Mycroft onto his side.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Greg says over and over under his breath. He leans over Mycroft to whisper it against his skin with light kisses until someone else is standing above them.

“Are you okay, sir?” It’s the sergeant from his scene.

“Has someone called an ambulance?” Greg asks in lieu of an answer and pats himself down for his own phone. He’s fine but Mycroft certainly isn’t. “Mine’s a bit damp.” He adds, holding up his certainly broken mobile.

The sergeant looks horrified that she hadn’t thought to do so and pats herself down, too. “I- I uh left my radio. Be right back.”

Greg scowls and thinks to reprimand her for… forgetfulness in a crisis. Something. He is pulled away from such thoughts by a tug from Mycroft trying to pull himself upright with the help of Greg’s shirt front.

“Hey there. Slow down.” Greg insists even as Mycroft’s clutching insists that he needs to be sat up now. Greg helps him despite his fears for his health.

“You okay?” Is all he can think to ask. It’s a stupid question but he doesn’t know how much he needs Mycroft to answer anything until he hears Mycroft’s quiet affirmative and he breathes a sigh of relief. He pulls the other man into a gentle hug. “Thought I’d lost you there, love.”

“Never.” Mycroft replies in a rasp but it doesn’t make Greg feel better as usual. It just makes his chest feel tight. Mycroft is hugged closer.

“Don’t do it again.”

Mycroft doesn’t answer this time. It doesn’t need one as much as Greg needs to know Mycroft is still alive. That is, until Mycroft starts shivering and Greg pulls them both up to find some shelter as others appear around them. They’re both mostly oblivious to their company.

Greg steers a shivering Mycroft over to some steps leading to a doorway nearby and sits them both down. Mycroft is huddled into a blanket that appears from nowhere as well as Greg’s jacket, his own sodden jacket and waistcoat having just been stripped from him by Greg now he has escaped the immediate clutches of death. Mycroft is sure that he’d be stripped of everything if Greg had his way. “You’re going to freeze.” Greg tells him, and it isn’t a denial. He turns away to shout irritably, “Has someone called an ambulance or does someone actually have to die first?”

No one replies but for a derisive snort from Sherlock but Mycroft is quick to deny the help anyway. “I don’t need an ambulance. I’m quite alright.”

“You’re not alright, Mycroft. You’re freezing and you’ve had half the Thames in your lungs. Not to mention that you just nearly died!” Greg wiggles closer and wraps an arm around his shoulders to rub at both his arms. It takes a moment but Mycroft slowly relaxes into his arms despite having Sherlock’s deductive stare aimed at them. He also thinks about relenting to Greg’s wishes when he realises shivers are running down his spine and they have nothing to do with the fear of Sherlock finding them out.

“I need complete access to the case. ” Sherlock says apropos of nothing.

Greg stutters and chokes on air in his immediate frustration. “You didn’t much care about the case when you were attempting to kill your brother.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “You’re being dramatic, Lestrade.”

“No, Sherlock. He could have died. If anything I’m being extremely calm right now.” He really does look like he wants to rip Sherlock a new one. Maybe even wrap his hands around his throat and shake him to death. He’s not sure that Sherlock would be safe if Mycroft wasn’t shivering so much in his arms.

There’s another eye roll. “You needn’t have jumped in after the bumbling idiot. As I already told you, Lestrade, there was a ladder.”

“And how was he supposed to get to the ladder, Sherlock?” Greg asks through gritted teeth. His grip on Mycroft’s arms tightens in defence of him. Mycroft almost finds it charming that Greg is trying to get Sherlock to deduce why he’s so angry because telling him would be giving a secret that isn’t his to give. Mycroft doesn’t much care any more and he’s certain that over Sherlock’s shoulder is a newly enlightened Doctor Watson. What the doctor knows, Sherlock will know in due course, and Mycroft would rather it came from him.

Sherlock isn’t catching on, though. “He could easily swim the scant few meters I allowed him.” He waves a hand dismissively. 

“You tosser! He could have drowned! He did drown!”

“Perhaps the added weight of his ridiculously large posterior caused a buoyancy problem. Nothing to do with me.”

Mycroft can feel the bomb that is Greg tick its last tock before exploding and hurries to cut him short. He leans into Greg’s side. “Gregory.” He simply says and Greg relaxes into him, continuing to rub feeling into Mycroft’s limbs. Mycroft smiles. Sherlock gags.

Mycroft turns his own glare to Sherlock at the childish outburst but it softens as he prepares to tell a well kept secret that, as much as he won’t show it, if he knows his brother, Sherlock will feel immediately guilty about.

“You were too busy to see it, Sherlock, but Gregory just saved my life.” Mycroft begins and cuts off Sherlock’s reply about being a drama queen by adding, finally, “I can’t swim.”

Sherlock’s jaw snaps shut. His eyes roam over Mycroft’s form properly. He is finally seeing. It would be comical if it wasn’t just a bit sad.

“Oh.” Is all his little brother can say before he’s striding away with an apologetic looking John following. Mycroft wasn’t even expecting that much. Sherlock basically just apologised by not saying something pointed and hurtful about his inability to do something.

Mycroft sighs.

“How did he not know that?” Greg asks, baffled. Before Mycroft can answer, Greg shakes his head and continues, “No, wait, even if he didn’t know, how did he not see that you very clearly nearly died? He’s the most observant person ever. There’s no way-”

“Gregory.” Mycroft stops him with a hand on his thigh. “Much like the rest of us, he sees but does not observe. Especially when he does not want to.”

“That’s bullshit, Myc. You’re making excuses for him.”

“He is my brother. You know how he is. I provoked him.”

Greg shakes his head angrily. “No, Mycroft. He just nearly killed you. I’m not ignoring that.”

“I’m not asking you to, darling. Just-” He thinks about it a moment like he’s trying to find the right words. He doesn’t seem to find them.

Greg, not willing to concede but also not wanting to cause injury to Mycroft right now, leaves him his silent company until Mycroft’s teeth start chattering and he can’t ignore it anymore. “Right. Nope. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“I’m fine!” Mycroft starts to protest.

“No. Not hearing it. Nobody likes A&E, Myc, but I’m pretty sure they prefer it to secondary drowning and pneumonia.” He tugs Mycroft up and pulls the ends of the blanket tighter around him. “We’re going.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a longer fic but if you know me at all you'll know not to hold your breath waiting for the next chapter! I'm still writing so feel free to ask questions and suggest things.


End file.
